


In a Jam

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Butcher Benny, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, PB&Js, Pining Dean, Teacher Castiel, Teacher Sam, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“His name’s Castiel,” Benny says unhurriedly. “Folks ‘round here call him Clarence. Not sure why. All’s I know is for a shapely guy, he chows down on red meat like it’s goin’ outta style. He stops by here every couple a days.”</p><p>Dean shakes his head, scoffing, “I’m pining over George Bailey. That’s just super.”</p><p>Or the one where Dean is hopelessly in love with someone he's never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Jam

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fic revolving around jelly. I should see someone about this. (Or stock up on jelly.)

Let it be known that Dean Winchester is deathly allergic to peanut butter. But like hell if he doesn't love jelly.

So when he plops his eleventh Mason jar this week into his gonorrhea-greased basket, it doesn't go unnoticed by the burly butcher two aisles over:

"You're in _deep_ , Chief."

"Who says I just don't love jam?"

"And I'm the poster boy for physical health," Benny remarks, shaking his head fondly as he reaches for his bloodied knife and hacks off the head of a very large—"Christ, you Westerners sure are a strange blood."

Benny just relocated from some small town in Bumfuck, Louisiana—if his profuse Cajun accent was anything to go by. Why anyone would want to crawl out of the humid asscrack of Hell only to be shoved through the mouth of Palo Alto, California, was beyond Dean—maybe he has family here, or he wants to get _away_ from family. But he didn't have the right to impose questions on the guy mortared in cold blood on a daily basis. So long as the fat on his steaks remain thin, he was happier than headless poultry.

"And Southerners are nosy."

"Hey, least we know what we want when we want it."

"I'm sure incest is consensual where you come from, but here it's just as bad as lying with another dude or whatever," Dean says it jestingly, but there’s a pit in his stomach that can't be filled with all the jelly the store has to offer. He knows this feeling all too well.

He has all these excuses lined up like ducks in a row: Judging by the way he whores the PB&J section, mystery man probably has a wife and 2.5 kids to tend to. Or maybe he’s a stress eater and turns to PB&Js, lost his job or got evicted—that would explain the wonted trenchcoat and the scruffiness around his mouth. Either scenario didn’t sound like a man that would be up for conversation.

“His name’s Castiel,” Benny says unhurriedly. “Folks ‘round here call him Clarence. Not sure why. All’s I know is for a shapely guy, he chows down on red meat like it’s goin’ outta style. He stops by here every couple a days.”

Dean shakes his head, scoffing, “I’m pining over George Bailey. That’s just super.”

“Excuse me, Benny; can I have a five pound ground beef roll, 73 percent lean?”

Dean swivels his head to his immediate right and he has to catch his breath—standing next to him is none other than the human-angel hybrid himself, and he’s even more attractive up close.

Dean can see the stubble poking through his mandible like a flower budding in a crack in a freshly-paved sidewalk, along with his button ears hiding behind helplessly messy hair, but it’s his eyes that are truly stunning, sitting on top of his high cheekbones like two glowing jellyfish. He smells like Nutella and Wintergreen Altoids and sounds like Clint Eastwood; it’s enough to lift Dean off his feet.

“Seventy-three?” he hears Benny blasphemy good-naturedly. “You feelin’ chancy tonight?”

Castiel laughs, deep and rich, and all Dean can think of is he has to be at _least_ 80% lean, “I have a good friend of mine from the school coming over for dinner. You may know him, Sam Winchester, he frequents the store. I wouldn’t want to chance anything more in case he—”

“Wait, did you say Sam Winchester? As in moosely, Fabio-haired _I don’t know nothing ‘bout birthin’ babies_ Sam Winchester?”

Castiel’s eyes crinkle as he turns to Dean, one part confused and two parts amused. “I don’t understand that last reference, but yes, that sounds like an adequate description. And you two are…?”

“Brothers,” Dean answers before his tongue betrays him, “I’m Dean, the handsomer, older brother.”

Castiel offers him his hand with a shy, surreptitious smile, “Castiel, but most people call me Cas. Not everyone knows the mythology.”

“Castiel means Angel of Thursday, right?—or Shield of God, if you wanna get Theophoric.”

Cas’s mouth quirks in an impressed sort of way. “You know your mythology.”

“I _am_ related to Sam,” Dean defends and Cas chuckles. “I take it you’re a schoolteacher too?”

“Guilty.”

“And you teach—?”

“History.”

It’s Dean’s turn to smile. “I should’ve known. I can see why you and Sam make quite the pair.”

“Likewise,” Castiel says a little too kindly. He almost overlooks the butcher exchanging a knowing smirk between the two of them, a cold, squishy package in hand. “Oh, thank you, Benny,” he says, accepting the ground round with a courteous smile, “my ex-husband says I’d lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

“Don’t thank me, man, it’s my job,” he says, directing his gaze toward Dean. “Tell Dean about the weekly food drives you do for the school.” Dean’s mouth parts in disbelief, as if to say _You were holding out on me?!_ Benny’s eyebrows wiggle.

“Oh yeah, I don’t know if Sam’s told you, but the history department started a food drive for in-campus children who can’t afford thrice-daily meals,” he explains, gesturing to his cart, jam-packed (no pun intended) with PB&J foodstuffs. “Most people donate canned foods like beans and soups, so I add to the help by making PB&Js. The list of kids is anonymous, so I just give them to the cafeteria, and whichever kid claims they forgot or lost their money is the kid that gets the PB&J.”

Dean curtails the staring match he’s having with Benny in favor of the man next to him. He’ll deal with him later. “That’s awesome, Cas,” he says sincerely, liking the way his name comes slipping off his tongue. “Seriously, I mean not a lot of people want to take the time to give back to the people who really need it.”

“My thoughts exactly!” Cas exclaimed, shifting his focus back to the cart. “Although, I could use more jelly.”

Dean chirps a small “ _Oh!”_ as he reaches for the basket he set on the Deli counter. “Er, sorry, that may have been my fault,” he says holding it out at arm’s length. Castiel gapes at him, mystified.

“Wow, you really like grape jelly.”

“You have no idea,” Benny says, barking a laugh. Luckily, he retreats into the backroom so Dean can’t brand his ass. “Have a good one, Cas.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Dean shouts gruffly.

“Only if it’s on special!” Benny yells back.

Cas waves in his direction then turns back to Dean awkwardly. “Well, I should probably be going…”

“Wait, uh, Cas, I was wondering if you, uh,” Dean’s words are like empty cans tossed into a recycling bin. He’s generally Rico Suave when it comes to asking people out, but it’s somehow different this time. Cas is different. But he’s different in the best way possible, even if it means putting a strain on Dean’s vocal chords. “If Sam doesn’t talk your ear off too much tonight, would you maybe wanna, I dunno, make some sandwiches together sometime?”

Dean think Cas pops a few face muscles grinning so hard. “I’d like that very much, Dean.” He pauses, tossing in for good measure, “But only because you have the jelly.”

To this day, as he sits in front of the TV with six feet of angel curled against his side and 2.5 kids (two present, one in the oven) running around their newly-upgraded three-bedroom home, Dean can’t bother with buying peanut butter.

 

 

 


End file.
